


Takes a Profiler to Fool a Profiler

by thathyperloudfangirlchick



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: BAU girls, DESK SEX YAY, F/M, Secret Relationship, slight BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-25 10:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4956559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thathyperloudfangirlchick/pseuds/thathyperloudfangirlchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the prompt “The team ships you and Hotch without knowing the two of you are already together”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

          “Hotch looks really good today, don’t you think, Y/N?” Penelope asks with faux nonchalance as she leans on your desk. You don’t look up from your case files when you pull at the folder under her ass, smirking as she squawks indignantly. 

          “Hotch looks the same as he always does. Funny, it’s almost as if he wears the same dark-colored suits to work every day,” you reply, blankly looking up at her over the rim of your glasses. “But hey, if you’re into him, you should definitely go for it. Not sure how Sam would like that though.” Penelope giggles at that, playfully slapping your arm, and you laugh with her, leaning back in your office chair.

          “Seriously, Y/N, don’t you think you’d be really cute with Hotch? You’re so tiny, and he’s so tall, and you’re so bubbly and he’s so serious, it’s like a opposites-attract-balancing thing,” she insists with her vague, excited hand movements. “Prentiss, JJ, back me up here.” JJ puts down the file in front of her face, and Emily spins her chair around, the both of them finally giving up the pretense of productivity.

          “Garcia’s right,” JJ replies, Emily pointing at her with a nod. You roll your eyes at them and undo your braid. It’s ten o’clock here, you’re all on paperwork duty, the girls are all around your desk, you might as well put your hair down, cause no more work is getting done tonight. Penelope immediately starts running her hand through your soft black hair, now slightly wavy from behind tied tightly all day.

          “You know, one day, when you inevitably get married to Hotch, you’re going to wear your hair down like this. I don’t understand why you tie it up so tightly all the time, it’s so pretty…” You sigh at this, tilting your head back and relaxing into the feel of her nails on your scalp as you toe off your heels under your desk. “And JJ, Prentiss, and I will be your bridesmaids, there to say ‘I told you so.’” 

          “Oh, there will be so many ‘I told you so’s. At your bachelorette party, your sash won’t say Bride-to-Be, it’ll say JJ, Prentiss and Garcia told me so,” Emily says, her hands fanning out in the air as if imagining it.

          “Bit long for a sash, don’t you think?” you mutter, your head lolling to the side as Penelope’s hands brush through your hair. Emily only scoffs, and JJ laughs.

          “Still, we get baby naming rights. They’d have cute babies, don’t you think, Emily?” She nods at this, but you raise your head, glaring at the two gossips.

          “Ay, ain’t no one having any babies. You can’t have coffee or chocolate when you get pregnant, y’all, I can’t live like that.” The others laugh fondly at that, the four of you sharing an obsession with anything that can keep you alert for the long hours of FBI work. 

          “Y/N, just think, though, Hotch would probably loosen up so much if he were getting sex on the regular, and we all know you think he’s attractive,” Emily argues as she rolls her chair forwards and leans her elbows on your desk, and you throw your arms in the air in exasperation.

          “Dude, I find every member of our team attractive. Have you not noticed that all of you are like ridiculously beautiful? Besides, y’all make it sound like I’m not getting any.” The three of them lean forward at that, their friendly, teasing smiles taking on an almost predatory edge.

          “Which means you are~?” Penelope teases, taking your head in her hands and tilting it back so you look up at her. You smirk at her, and she gasps, delighted and scandalized, as you sit up and run a hand through your hair, tousling it in an act of nonchalant, sensual confidence.

          “My hair may or may be the only thing that’s getting tied up is all.” JJ, Emily, and Penelope pounce on that, begging for details, and you laugh unabashedly as the four as you chatter, spending quality girl time together. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Knock, Knock._

          “Come in,” Hotchner intones, his fingertips massaging his eyelids after looking at the clock. 11:30 on a saturday, much too late to still be at the office, but at least he just finished the last of his work that needed immediate attention. He hears rather than sees the door close and someone approach the desk, not looking up until he catches the scent of the sweet peach perfume you put on this morning before you both left his apartment. You place a comforting hand of the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles there while you take the pen out of his tightly clenched left hand.

          “Take a breather, Aaron. I can practically hear your muscles screaming out for a break.” He huffs out a singular laugh at that before stretching his fingers and leaning back in his chair, luxuriating in your touch on his skin.

          “I actually just finished. Anything else can wait until Monday, I think,” he mumbles as your hand moves to his cheek, your thumb soft against his skin. 

          “Well, in that case,” you say, cheerfully, you swing your body onto his lap, one arm around his neck, the other entwining your finger with his. He smiles, his lips against your temple as his other hand entangles itself in your loose hair.

          “So how was your day, Y/N?” Aaron asks, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear and making you giggle and squirm in his embrace. 

          “Well, the girls ambushed me again today. They’re convinced you and I are perfect for each other and that they will be the bridesmaids at our wedding. Oh, and they have baby naming rights.” Aaron chuckles at that, the low timbre of his laughter reverberating through his muscles under your hands and feeding vibrations into your nerves. 

          “I wonder where they would get an absurd notion like that in their heads,” he jokes, his lips brushing a kiss against your cheek. “I’m still surprised that we’ve been able to fool a team of FBI profilers for this long. Makes you wonder about their skills.” You laugh at that, tucking your head under his chin, your ear pressed to his heart.

          “It would take profilers to fool profilers, I guess. I also told them I got laid last night by some random dude, so that distracted them.” You feel Aaron’s muscles tense under yours, and you pat his chest, fond amusement in every touch. “Oh, hush you, I basically told them what we did last night. There’s no way in hell they’ll connect that to you,” you tease, tugging on his tie and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

          “Did they believe you?” Aaron asks, his fingertips massaging your scalp. You nod against the skin of his neck and giggle at the memory of their faces.

          “Honey, they were too interested in the rope marks on my thighs to care who put them there. You should have seen their faces. You think after me working here for six months, they would realize I’m not as innocent as my baby face would lead them to believe.” As you mention the bruises from last night, Aaron lets go of your hand and gently strokes up your skirt, his fingertips a sweet reminder on your skin. 

          “How are you, anyway? We were so rushed this morning, I never got to check up on you…” Your body melts against his at the caring, worried tone in his voice.

          “Oh, I’m fine. You know I always love it when you leave marks; I like feeling you on me the next day,” you reply, looking up at him over the rim of your glasses and batting your eyelashes. His grip on your body tightens at the look in your eyes, and you let out a groan and tilt your head back, baring your neck as his hand puts more pressure on your bruises, the pain mixing with pleasure through your lower body. 

          “Y/N,” he says gruffly, his eyes dark and his pupils dilated. “It would probably be best for us to make more. If we want to keep this ruse believable as we have been.” You nod as you straighten up on his lap, your hand clenched in the shoulder of his suit as you meet his gaze with dark eyes of your own.

          “We will cover my entire body with bruises if we have to… Sir.” Aaron shudders and stands up, placing you sitting on his desk, his hands already pushing up your skirt. 

          “You know what, Agent Y/L/N? I’m pretty sure fucking you while you’re bent over my desk will bruise you up pretty.” You hiss at that, tearing off his suit jacket while he unbuttons your blouse.

“You sure you’re not too tired from last night, boss?” you goad as you fumble with his tie. Aaron responds with a gruff snarl of his own as he throws your shirt and bra across the room and pulls you to your feet, then turning you around and pushing your torso flush against the desk with a firm hand on your back. 

          “You like remembering my touch, Agent Y/N? When I’m through with you tonight, you are never going to forget the feeling of me fucking you from behind and owning you.” A tremor runs through your body in response to his words and the deep bass of his voice, and you feel so grateful for the firm, steadying hand on your back when you grip the edges of the desk, bracing yourself in anticipation at the sound of a zipper behind you.


	2. Chapter 2

          “Fuckin fuck, fuck Alaska,” you mutter viciously, your cold-almost-to-the-point-of-numb fingers attempting to clutch the blanket closer to yourself. The small space heater in front of you does not make you feel better as you hike the thin cotton fabric higher over your shoulders, cursing this dumb state and its dumb snow and the dumb UNSUB who had to go on a killing spree and get caught in a tiny Alaskan town right before the snowstorm of the year. It was only  just after you and the team had everything packed up and ready to go that you were told the snow was too heavy for you all to leave the log cabin that served as a sheriff station let alone fly back home.

          You had all drawn straws for the limited amount of rooms, and everyone had only laughed at the tortured whine you let out when you drew the literal short stick. That was how you ended up in a glorified holding cell with crappy ventilation, a loveseat, and a singular heater the size of Derek’s stupid head, garbed in nothing but an atrociously thin blanket and your flannel pajamas. 

          “Well, don’t you look all toasty and warm,” a voice mutters behind your tiny couch. You turn around, your eyes angry slits over the blanket fabric as you glare in that general direction.

          “Don’t play with me Aaron. I am cold, this space heater doesn’t work, and this blanket smells vaguely of fish.” He just laughs at this, smoothing down your disheveled hair and helping you up. “Are we going somewhere?” you whisper, popping your head out of your little cocoon. Aaron nods, holding a finger up to his lips, and takes your hand, leading you towards the general area where the desks are. You shiver, feeling the cold air rush at you, and Aaron’s arm wraps around your shoulder, tucking you against his side, and you slump against him, his solid, warm body better than any space heater. He smiles at the ticklish feeling of your head nestling into the soft fabric of his henley and settles you in a chair and switches on a desk lamp. You pull your knees up to your chest and watch appreciatively as he brings in the loveseat you were sitting on earlier with ease, settles it down it front of a desk. His eyes meet yours, and with a secretive, teasing glance like a magician about to pull a bunny out of his hat, he pushes the desk to the side, revealing a tiny fireplace, and in that moment, Aaron could swear he has never heard anything cuter than the sweet, excited sound you make as you clap your hands and scramble back onto the loveseat.

          “How did you know this was here?” you whisper animatedly, tucking your legs under you and leaning forward as Aaron opens the damper and puts some newspapers on top of the logs. 

          “I texted the police chief as soon as we found out you’d be sleeping out here, and he just got back to me. I figured you’d be freezing out here, since you’re not used to the cold and snow.” You positively melt into the cushions at Aaron’s thoughtfulness and your body only thaws out more and Aaron drops a match into the fireplace and stokes the fire. When the flame is burning red and warm, he puts up the guard and settles on the seat next to you, and you immediately lay down, your head comfortably perched on his thighs. 

          “Have I mentioned how sweet and wonderful and perfect a boyfriend you are?” you moan, shedding the blanket as you drink in the warmth. Aaron only hums, a small grin on his face as he runs a hand through your hair, his other hand haphazardly thrown over the back of the chair as he relaxes. Soothed by the fire, a job well done, and each other’s presence, the two of you of you fall asleep in front of the crackling fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

          “One day, when they get married and we’re giving a speech at their reception, I am going to just play a montage of these pictures in the background.”

          “While we tell her we told her so.”

          “Exactly, Emily, exactly. Now hush, we don’t want them to wake up before we’re done.” You hear the clicks of their phone cameras and inwardly grimace as you imagine their faces. The two of you will never hear the end of this, but you might as well buck up and face the music. 

          “You know, for FBI agents, y’all aren’t really good at keeping quiet or being sneaky,” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your palms. When you open your eyes groggily, it’s morning outside, the light coming in bright and blue from the windows. You sit up, squinting at the blobs that are your three girls and pat around for your glasses, finding them on the armrest near Aaron’s elbow. You end up regretting that because now the smug yet excited looks on their faces are crystal clear as the girls semi-circle around you and Aaron like hawks. You don’t understand how he could still be sleeping so soundly in the presence of such danger, so you rap against the arm holding his head up, shaking him a bit. It takes all your willpower to not let your face soften and coo at the sleepy, defenseless way he opens his eyes, but that adorable vulnerability does not last when his eyes look away from you and he sees the women circling you. 

          “Can I help you?” he asks blandly, his morning-rough voice only hinting at his annoyance, but it is enough for them to make their excuses and disperse, even though you are sure you have explaining to do on the plane. You finally get up and stretch, letting out a whimper as your muscles sing for you, and Aaron behind you also stretches in his seat, making you turn around to watch, your eyes drinking in the way the lines of his body get drawn taut and strong. He jokingly throws the blanket at your face in reply to your lecherous stare, and you laugh, taking the hand he offers you to help you up.

          “Would you like help cleaning up the fireplace and stuff?” Aaron shakes his head and smiles, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

          “I’m good here. You go pack up and do damage control. Unless you’d like to finally tell them…?” You shrug at that, folding up the blanket and placing it neatly on the chaise. 

          “There’ll be so much paperwork and trouble if we go public… and honestly, it’s so much fun hiding this under their noses, I’d like to keep it going as long as can. Besides, when information is as important and deadly as it is in our cases, isn’t nice to have a fun secret like this?” you ask, giggling. Aaron only shakes his head indulgently before pushing you towards the stairs, and you blow a kiss before jogging up, the two of you switching to your default professional mode.


	3. Chapter 3

          “McAllan has killed another girl and taken four hostages in a diner downtown, the address has been sent to all your phones, GO!” Strauss yells, bursting into the conference room. All of your faces grow frustrated as you all run out the room, grabbing phones and jackets and rushing towards the FBI vans.

          “A hostage situation? We didn’t predict him escalating this quickly, this violently,” you ponder to Aaron as he speeds down the street, sirens blaring.

          “Something must have triggered him into a psychotic break. We’ll have to figure out what it is and how to pacify him so none of the hostages get hurt.” You nod at this distractedly, lost in thought, as you tighten your bulletproof vest. You only look up as Aaron tightly grasps your wrist, his eyes still glaring at the road. “Y/N, I need you to be careful when we get there. You know his victimology.” At this, you nod and take his tense hand in yours, your fingertips tracing calming patterns on his skin.

          “From the three victims who he’s murdered, we can tell he has an obsession with attractive, neat, professional brunette women, probably stemming from a rejection by a woman who fits these characteristics. All the women he’s taken hostage in the diner also fit this description.” Aaron’s grip on your hand only tightens as you continue, and he brings your hand to his tightly frowning lips.

          “You fit his victim profile perfectly, and I don’t want him to make you victim number five. Just stay back, stay quiet, stay hidden.” You frown at that, gripping his shoulder.

          “Aaron, don’t worry. I’m not that pretty, I don’t stand out, and I am going to do my job. Remember, when I got hired as a profiler here, we promised that our affection for each other would not affect our responsibilities,” you admonish, your fingers gently rubbing his brow as it furrows at your words. He pulls into the diner parking lot, and you pull away from him, barreling out the car and into the space bustling with law enforcement.

“Has contact been made? Any demands?” Hotch asks the police chief as you redo your tidy braid and watch the rest of your team pull up.

          “We keep calling the inside of the diner, and we can hear the phone ringing from inside, but he refuses to pick up. We are going to make megaphone contact, but we thought it would be best to wait for all of you to get here.”

          “That was a good idea, chief. What’s the status on the hostages?” Morgan asks as he walks up and fastens his vest.

          “They’re unharmed, but he seems to have stripped them naked and tied their hands behind their backs with their own clothes. We haven’t really seen them, since he moved them to the back room soon after we got here.

          “By getting them naked and tying them up, he is making them vulnerable and more hesitant to try to escape. But is using their clothes to tie them up a calculated move or done out of convenience?” Prentiss asks from next to you.

          “This situation is is too messy, and he seems too volatile. It doesn’t look like he planned this,” you offer as you lean against a cop car, your view into the diner perfect. McAllan is pacing back and forth, his hands clutched to his head as he mutters to… himself? The corpse on the floor? ‘Definitely not premeditated’ you think, nodding until he suddenly whirls around and kicks a bar stool and shoots the wall. He looks up through the window, and his wide, crazed eyes seem to meet yours despite the good twenty feet and glass pane between you. You feel a chill down your spine as his eyes don’t leave yours, and you’re about to reach out and alert on of your teammates when the UNSUB hurries towards the back wall and picks up the phone the police have been calling this entire time.

          “Agent Hotchner! He’s made contact!” an officer yells, offering a department phone to your boss. You tense as he puts it on speaker.

          “Mister McAllan, you’re sur-”

          “I’ll release my hostages if you send in that pretty woman standing next to you. All of them for her, I want her. I won’t talk until you deliver,” he interrupts, glaring at Hotch from across the lot. However, it’s not his lecherous eyes you’re afraid of, but Hotch’s burning angry glare as he looks back and forth between the UNSUB and you, his body going even tenser than before.

          “Mister McAllan, I’m afraid that’s not possible. The FBI is not in the habit of trading agents to murderers,” he grits out, his irate eyes still on you. The others have gone tense next to you, as you can hear and feel McAllan’s lascivious laughter sending shivers through your extremities.

          “G-Man, you will be. If you don’t, I’ll shoot a hostage every five minutes you don’t send that tall drink of water in. One life for four, doesn’t that make sense? And who knows, I might not even kill them quickly, I’m sure there’s some knives in that kitchen.” His eyes lurch over to you, the small smile on his face widening to a psychotic grin as little giggles escape him. “I have so many options with them in here.”

          “I’ll do it.” Aaron’s eyes whip towards you and see your own eyes wide as saucers as if you could not believe you just said that. Your hands are clenched at your sides, but your posture is sure as you meet eyes with McAllan and nod. His laugh is frantic and demented over the phone.

          “Come in without your vest and gun, pretty woman. I’ll have the other girls ready to go.” He hangs up, and at the click, your team members all turn to you, frenzied, Aaron, most of all, his rage showing through the tight hand that grips the arm undoing your vest.

          “You’re not doing this, Y/N,” he grits out, his fingers hard enough to bruise. You only glare at him as you pry your fingers from your arm and fling off the heavy garment.

          “Yes, I am, Hotch. You heard him. I go in, the hostages go free, and the hostages are always the top priority,” you intone, unclipping your holster from your belt. He just grabs your biceps again, making you face him and witness his angry concern.

          “Y/N, the FBI does not trade agents for hostages, and it’s stupid to send you in without weapons or protection. There is no way for you to come out of this saf-” You interrupt him by grabbing and kissing him. He tries to pull away when he hears the gasps undeniably coming from your team, but you bite his lip hard and dig your nails into the skin of his neck, not letting him go until you’re satisfied. When you do release him, the both of you are not-so-subtly panting and flushed.

          “Do you trust me, Aaron?” you ask demandingly. He remains close-lipped, his eyes searching your face for the slightest chance you won’t walk to your death, but you just dig in your nails more, shaking him. “Do you TRUST me?”

          “Of course I do, Y/N. With my life.” You soften at that, rubbing his skin comfortingly where your  grip made marks.

          “Then trust me with my own life. Trust me to do my job. I love you, and I’ll be back.” With one last quick kiss and a nod to the officers on standby, you walk resolutely towards the restaurant door. The closer you get, your feelings become conflicted, because you can see the looks on the women’s faces growing more radiant and relieved and McAllan’s face growing more smug and lecherous. You open the door and don’t look away from his wired eyes as you gesture the women out the door, all of them scrambling to exit but not without throwing sympathetic, sad looks towards you. You pat the last one on the shoulder before closing the door behind you.

          “Come here, stand in front of me, let me look at you, pretty woman,” he demands, gesturing with his gun at a spot about three feet in front of him. As you walk slowly, surely, his eyes dart to the side, and he smirks, gleefully. He’s standing in front of the door, in the direct line of sight of anyone wanting to look in. He is making a spectacle, and that is exactly what he wants. He hums Van Halen while you stand in front of him, his hand coming out to caress your cheek with the muzzle of the pistol. “What’s a beauty like you doing in such a harsh place like the FBI? You should be at home with a man taking care of you, pretty thing.” You only lean into the cold touch of steel, and look at him over the rim of your glasses, batting your eyelashes.

          “I wanted control in my life. I wanted to take care of myself, be independent,” you murmur, your gaze dropping as your fingers twist together, clasped in front of you. He looks down at you, patronizing, the gun ducking under your chin and forcing you to look up at him. You force your stare to mimic vulnerability and your stomach to not empty its contents at the smarmy look on his face.

          “Why on earth would you want that, miss? Pretty things like you should be taken care of, locked up somewhere and kept,” he purrs, leaning towards you and tracing his nose against your temple. You close your eyes, trying not to let your face tighten at his close proximity and his unkempt odor.

          “I started regretting it, honestly. That’s why… that’s why I started seeing my boss. I wanted him to take care of me… I thought it was a good idea, submitting to my superior, but it hasn’t been like how I imagined it.” McAllan lets out a pleased sound at that, pulling away and throwing a smirk at Hotch outside. You refuse to look, but his shoulders shake with mirth as he turns back towards you, his free hand on your hip.

          “You need a real alpha male to take care of you, take control of you, make you let go. You’re much too uptight, and he’s obviously not man enough for you. I would take care of you, I would make you mine.”

          “Really?” you ask him with hope in your voice, your eyes forced wide and innocent as you look up at him. “Could you really take care of me? I’m so tired,” you whimper, slowly sliding to your knees in front of him. He becomes visibly shocked and unsettled by this, his own eyes widening as your eyelids lower in demure invitation. “Would you take my hair down for me… Jacob?” you ask sweetly as you trail your hands over his softly. He tenses, shaking, and drops the gun before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you towards him. You sit back on your haunches, your hands falling to the floor at your sides, palms up, while he pulls back and grasps at your braid. Your neck is bared as you tilt your head back, and he inhales sharply, seemingly entranced by the pale expanse of your neck and the feel of your black hair as it come loose under his fingertips. He is, in fact, so busy pressing his mouth to the junction of your neck and shoulder and shaking out the waves of your tresses that he doesn’t notice your hand on the floor slowly inch towards your ankle.

          “Oh, you’ll be such a pretty thing for me, miss. I’ll take such good care of you,” he murmurs, trailing his lips and facial hair against your neck. As he pressed a kiss against your throat, you smile sweetly at him one last time.

          Before he knows it, his back is against the ground, and the nerves in his left shoulder are screaming in fiery pain. While he was distracted, you had taken the knife from your ankle sheath and stabbed him in the shoulder, forcing him to the ground so you could grab his gun and your knife and flip over him. McAllan, his disbelieving smile bordering on unhinged, leans up on his good arm and turns around to face you.

          “No, no, no, no, pretty thing- don’t do this- just put the gu-” He stops his yapping when you move the gun two inches to the right and shoot, just barely missing his left eye. Your smile turns viperous as he pales.

          “I am NOT your “pretty thing”, McAllan, and no girl will be ever again. Oh, and you don’t call me Miss. It’s Agent to you,” you say, beckoning to the officers outside. As they run up to the door, guns in hand, the UNSUB lunges towards you in desperation. Before any of the men outside can react, you rear back your arm and swing, pistol whipping him with the butt of your gun and sending him flying into the counter, unconscious. As they handcuff him, an officer takes the gun from you, attempts to take your knife in vain, and gingerly leads you outside towards the ambulance, where an EMT puts a lurid orange blanket around your shoulder and start poking and prodding you, much to your behest.

          When he has given you a clean bill of physical and psychological health, you get up, immediately tossing the stupid shock blanket aside only for Aaron to put it back around your shoulders and push you to sitting again.

          “That was extremely dangerous, Y/N.” You scoff your eyes at that, waving a hand dismissively.

          “I was perfectly safe. We knew he was unstable, and as a result, he was easily manipulated. I had my knife, I had my training, and I got all the hostages out safe. This case is all good,” you insist in a placating, almost bored tone. Your nonchalance does not convince Aaron, and you only look him in the eyes when you his grip on your shoulders tightens almost painfully. Instantly, you regret looking, because the anguish and pain under the outrage tugs at your heart and stays there, weighing it down more every second he looks at you like he almost lost you.

          “Y/N… Did you really think telling me you love me for the first time was a good idea for last words? Did you?” he asks, shaking your shoulders slightly. At the slight hint of panic in his voice, you coo and shush him, your hands stroking his cheeks.

          “No. No, I did not, which is exactly I refused to let them be so,” you say in a low tone, settling your knees on top of the platform and leaning up to press a light kiss to his mouth. The butterfly brush of your lips relaxes him slightly, and his hands moves to your waist as you stay close enough for your warm breath to fan out on his face. “Never will I give you last words, Aaron. Never will I accept the chance I won’t be coming back to you. I refuse to even acknowledge the possibility.” You wrap your arms around his neck, squeezing the sadness out of him as your lips settle on the warm skin of his neck. “Really, love, you should have figured out you’re stuck with me. Nothing as so trite as a stupid psychopath will take me away from you,” you murmur into his ear, kissing down his jawline. “We can get through them; e can get through anything,” you promise, finally kissing his lips, your touch a comfort, a healing balm against the fear in his heart, before he squeezes you tight and rests his face in the crook of your neck.

          For a few minutes, you are lost, lost in the magnificent way his shoulders move under your arms as he breathes, in the soft hair at the nape of his neck that you are running your fingertips through, in the way his arms tighten instinctively whenever you move in his protective embrace.

          When you finally deign to look away from him, you regret doing so, since JJ and Emily are ten feet away, not even being subtle about their excitement or their phone call. You duck your head, your lips brushing against Aaron’s ear.

          “Okay, I say we can get through anything, but we may have to test that claim sooner than anticipated,” you whisper, amused as the girls glance over again and catch you looking at them. Aaron looks up to ask what you’re talking about, and you only put a hand on his cheek, pushing it in the direction of the two women making a very determined beeline for the both of you. When you see him laughing, mirth and amusement replacing anything negative on his face, when he pulls away to face them only to keep a large, solid hand flat on your back, when you laugh together at their ecstatic, speechless faces, you know you’re going to be okay.

          Better than okay.

          You’ll be together.


End file.
